


Comes As No Surprise

by facethefall



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facethefall/pseuds/facethefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’ve had this headcanon forever that Grant and Darren smoke pot in Darren’s trailer and then get off together.  This is that fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comes As No Surprise

It’s Grant’s third day on set when Darren plops down into the director’s style chair next to him, bumping their shoulders together in lieu of a greeting.  Grant looks up from the script on his lap and gives Darren a smile.

“Darren, hey.”  They haven’t had much time to talk since Grant started, Darren bouncing back and forth between the Dalton set and McKinley, but he’s so easily likable that Grant finds himself turning his whole body in Darren’s direction, wanting more of his attention.  “What’s up?”

“Bored,” Darren says, sliding down into the chair, legs spreading as he gets more comfortable.  “And I wanted to come over and say hey.  See what you were up to.”  Darren drops his head back and closes his eyes.  “Bet you didn’t realize how much waiting around there would be.”

Grant laughs and picks up his script.  “It’s okay, gives me some time to brush up on my lines.”  Darren opens his eyes and rolls his neck to the side to get a better look at Grant.

“New kid’s making me look bad, trying to memorize his lines and shit,” Darren jokes, a lazy smile crossing his face.  He sits up straighter in his chair, cracking his back as he goes, and begins to unbutton his grey cardigan.  “It’s so fucking hot out, how are you not dying in that?” Darren asks, motioning to the Dalton blazer that Grant’s still wearing.

Grant shrugs.  He’s finally found an acting job, he’s not about to complain about the heavy wool blazer he’s forced to wear.  “It’s not so bad,” he says.  “Besides, one of the prop guys gave me this to keep cool.”  He reaches down underneath his chair and pulls out a tiny, hand-held fan.  “It helps.”

“Come on,” Darren says, ignoring the fan and grabbing for Grant’s other hand.  “My trailer has air conditioning, we can talk in there.”  Grant’s script falls off his lap and to the ground when Darren pulls him out of his chair.  Grant tosses the fan onto the chair, not bothering to bend down and pick up his script, and follows Darren, who’s bouncing along in front of him.

They reach Darren’s trailer quickly and Darren immediately cranks the air conditioning as high as it will go, the cool air blasting through the small trailer.  Grant shivers, the drastic temperature change leaving a tingling feeling across his skin.  It feels good though, after spending so much time in the oppressive heat outside, the constant sweat on the back of his neck finally drying up.

Darren shrugs off his sweater and hangs it over a chair in the corner of the room before walking over to the small kitchen and rummaging around through a few drawers.  “Take a seat, man,” he says without looking up, and Grant sits down on the far end of the couch.  Darren continues to search for whatever he’s looking for and Grant just watches him.  “So, come on, tell me about yourself.  Where are you from?”

Grant cracks a smile, thinking about how there’s really no one quite like Darren, who can have his back to you across the room and still seem so earnest to know your life story.  “Grew up in Virginia, went to college in North Carolina,” Grant says, watching as Darren raises his hands in apparent victory, a small baggie in his fist.  “Find what you were looking for?” Grant asks.

“Yup!” Darren says happily, finally making his way over and sitting down directly next to Grant, leaving an entire length of the couch untouched.  “So southern boy, huh?  I fucking love that part of the country,” Darren says, placing the small, clear plastic bag on his lap.  Grant recognizes the joints immediately and jerks back.

“Um, are you going to smoke?” He asks.

“Oh, shit.  Yeah?  If that’s cool with you?” Darren says, looking up to read Grant’s reaction.  “Sorry, I sometimes forget not everyone’s cool with it.”  He zips the bag closed.

“No, no.  It’s fine,” Grant insists. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”  Grant hasn’t smoked since high school, and even then he rarely did.  But he doesn’t mind that Darren does, even if he’s a little shocked that he would on days that he’s filming.

“You’re sure?” Darren asks, his face so sincere.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Grant assures him.

“Cool,” Darren smiles, opening the bag and taking out one of the joints and a lighter.  “Hey, you mind taking off the blazer?  Wardrobe kicked my ass the last time I brought back costumes and they reeked.”

Grant nods and slips off the blazer, tossing it onto the chair where Darren put his sweater.  When he turns back he sees Darren has the joint to his lips, the tip briefly glowing red as Darren holds the flame from the lighter up to the paper.  Darren takes the joint out of his mouth and turns it around, blowing on the end until it starts glowing again.  He licks his lips, concentrating, his mouth blowing a steady stream of air until the end starts to smoke.  Grant mimics Darren’s movements, his tongue tracing his own lips as he watches Darren light the joint.  Darren takes a few quick puffs in to get it going and then finally sucks in a large breath, the smoke filling his lungs.  Grant’s eyes are locked on the way Darren’s chest expands, his eye drifting shut, the thin line of his lips before he opens his mouth into a small circle, letting some of the smoke escape.

“That doesn’t mess with your acting?” Grant asks.  He’s curious and he needs to say _something_ , needs to not concentrate on how erotic Darren’s lips look as he takes another drag from the joint.

“Nah,” Darren says, shrugging his shoulders, and Grant watches as his thin white shirt clings to his neck.  “I never smoke enough to be completely gone, ya know?  It’s just a fun time killer.”  Darren’s smile is wide and Grant can’t help but match it.  “Besides, the food at craft services tastes fucking awesome when you’re done.”  Grant watches as Darren smiles and inhales again, his cheeks puffing out just a bit as he holds the smoke in before breathing it out of his nose.  They’re quiet for a few seconds, Darren’s fingers tiptoeing along Grant’s knee, before Darren slaps his hand to his forehead.  “Dude, how inhospitable am I?”  He holds out the joint to Grant.  “You want some?”

Grant hesitates.  He knows it’s probably a bad idea to get high on set, with paparazzi waiting across the street and with a whole crew surrounding them.  But Darren’s eyes are wide and his smile is genuine and Grant really, really doesn’t want to leave his trailer yet.

He reaches for the joint, their fingers brushing, and brings it up to his lips.  He hasn’t smoked in years, but when he inhales, it’s just like riding a bike.  His throat and lungs burn almost immediately and he can’t hold the smoke in for more than a few seconds before he starts coughing.  He’s not sure if it’s the drugs or Darren’s hand rubbing soothing circles on his back that makes him lightheaded, but he closes his eyes and focuses on the way Darren’s palm runs down the length of his spine, and the coughing stops.

“Been awhile?”  Darren asks, smirking as Grant catches his breath.  His hand has stopped moving along Grant’s back, instead resting right between Grant’s shoulder blades, nails absenting scratching against Grant’s shirt.

“Not since high school,” Grant admits.  He takes another puff, longer than his first, and this time it works better; he holds the smoke in his lungs until they start to feel tight, opening his mouth in a circle and barely coughing at all.

“Look at you, like an old pro,” Darren says as Grant hands the joint back to him.  He doesn’t know if the pot Darren has is especially good, or if it’s because it’s been so long since he’s smoked, but he’s already starting to feel the effects; the sleeves of his shirt rubbing against his wrists, the crack in the wall that runs all the way up to the ceiling, Darren’s hand resuming the small, soft circles on his back.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” Grant admits, closing his eyes and leaning back.  It feels like Darren is touching him everywhere; along his back and down his arms, over his face and down to his chest.  His body tingles and he turns to Darren, who’s laughing like Grant just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard.  Grant plucks the joint from Darren’s finger and takes another pull.  He feels warm and a little giddy, like everything around him is in a nice haze.  And Darren’s hands.  Nothing has ever felt that good, Grant decides, rolling his shoulders slowly, soaking up the warmth that seems to be radiating through Darren’s fingers.

“Hey, man.  Grant,” Darren says, trying to get his attention.  Grant doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he opens them, turning to look at Darren, whose face is closerthan he remembers.  “Grant, I have a great idea.”

“Yeah?” Grant asks, not really interested in anything besides getting Darren to start moving his hand again.

“The best plan, actually,” Darren says.  “Just.  Uh.  Close your eyes and don’t freak out.”

Grant doesn’t know why he trusts someone he met just a few days ago, but he does as Darren asks, closing his eyes, but staying faced towards Darren.

“Open your mouth,” Darren whispers, and Grant feels his entire body tingle.  He drops his jaw open, waiting for Darren to say something, momentarily content to watch the colors that flick behind his eyelids.  He hears Darren take in a deep breath ( _that has to be the end of the joint_ , he thinks) and then there’s smoke covering his lips, ghosting over and dipping into his mouth when he takes a sharp breath in.  He opens his eyes and sees Darren’s face so close to his, almost no space separating them at all, blowing small puffs of smoke against Grant’s mouth.  Grant reaches his hand out, needing something to keep him from floating up to the ceiling, and his palm lands high on Darren’s thigh.  The muscle there is warm and hard, but Grant doesn’t want to pay attention to that; not when their noses are barely touching, not when he can count each one of Darren’s eyelashes and watch the colors swirl in his eyes.

Darren breathes out the last bit of smoke and brushes their lips together.  It’s not a kiss, not really, but it feels indescribably good.  Darren’s lips are soft and smooth and moving in barely-there touches against Grant’s mouth.  They’ve been filming all day and Darren’s beard is already starting to grow back, the short hairs scratching against Grant’s chin.  The sensation is so much  _more_  than Grant is expecting and he pulls back, just enough so that their lips are no longer touching.

“Everything feels awesome when you’re high,” Darren says wisely, and Grant can only nod in agreement, their noses bumping together.  “But, like, I mean everything, ya know?”  Darren looks like he’s going to reach out and touch Grant, and Grant sucks in a quick, uneven breath.  He doesn’t though, instead changing courses and putting his hand on his own chest.  He moves slowly, languidly, no rush at all as his hand slips further and further down the front of his body.  Grant watches, unblinking, sure that this entire thing is a dream.  Darren’s weed had to be laced with something and he’s hallucinating.  That’s the only reason Grant can come up with as Darren’s palm smoothes over the front of his pants, his hips jerking up and a loud groan leaving his mouth as he presses up into his hand.

“Fuck that feels good,” Darren moans, his hand curling around his cock over his pants.  He’s hard, Grant can see that, Darren’s thin grey slacks hiding absolutely nothing.  Grant feels like he can’t breathe, so much worse than when his lungs were filled with smoke, his eyes unblinking as he watches Darren’s wrist flick back and forth.  “Come on, man.  You too,” Darren urges.  They’re still so close, Darren’s shoulder bumping into Grant’s as he reaches to unbutton his pants.

 _This is so weird_ , Grant tells himself, repeating it over and over—but it’s like his brain and his body are disconnected because before he can stop himself, his fingers are unbuttoning his pants and zipping down his fly.  Darren’s hand has disappeared inside his pants, but his hips are still moving and Grant can see the way the muscles in his arms flex.

“S’good, right?” Darren mumbles, his eyes droopy as he watches Grant.

Grant licks his lips and finally slides his hand inside his pants, groaning so loudly that he’s sure the entire crew must have heard him.  He doesn’t care though, because Darren is right; his hand around his cock feels amazing, better than anything has before.  He’s aware enough to know it’s because of the drugs floating through his system, but he doesn’t care.  Every stroke feels better than the one before it, dragging pleasure to every part of his body as his hips fuck up into his fist.  Grant flicks his eyes down and sees Darren’s back arched, his entire body writhing as his arm moves faster.

“Holy shit,” Grant whispers, his own hand picking up speed as he mimics Darren’s movements.  He feels so far gone, like his body doesn’t have a way of interpreting the pleasure that shoots through him.  He swears he can feel Darren’s hands on him too, can feel Darren’s soft skin under his own fingers, feels that their whole bodies are connected and that they’re sharing something that he doesn’t have a name for.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darren repeats, and Grant can barely keep up when Darren’s free hand flies up and pulls his shirt to the middle of his chest.  Grant’s jaw drops as Darren pulls his cock out of his pants, his entire body straining, just in time to come all over the bottom of his stomach.  He slumps down, his eyes falling shut, and sighs.

Grant slams his eyes shut and yanks up his own shirt, stroking as much as he can, as fast as he can, with his hand still trapped inside his pants.  It doesn’t seem to matter that he has limited movement—it feels like he’s touching himself everywhere, like there are a million hands on him at once, stroking and pushing and rubbing over his entire body.

When he comes, it feels like his whole body explodes, like he’s sharing it with Darren and everyone he’s ever met.  He shoves his pants down just in time, and it feels like it lasts forever—minutes, hours, days—he can’t tell for sure.  When he finally starts to come down, his body feels heavy, like he has lead in his veins, he arms limp at his sides and his feet stuck to the floor.  He rolls his neck to the side and looks at Darren, who smiles and winks.  Darren reaches across his body to retrieve the tissues on the table by the side of the couch, putting the box between them.

“Wardrobe also bitches about come stains,” Darren jokes as he rips a few tissues from the box.  Grant laughs and reminds himself to ask Darren about that story later.


End file.
